Best Dishes of 2013

Not to miss out on the end-of-year listacles, a look back at my most memorable dishes from this year.  Note these are all restaurant creations.  If I had to include some of the wonderful home cooked meals I’ve been served and cooked myself, it would be a much longer list as the year was also full of great home cooking.  In no particular order….

17 dishes at Hotel the Village: On my second visit to Sri Lanka I continued to be impressed with the vast array of cooking techniques and flavor combinations that could be presented in a single meal.  However, nowhere have I seen more diverse, complex, vegetable-driven preparations than at Hotel The Village restaurant in Girithali, Sri Lanka.  We were awestruck by the bounty when we weren’t busy eating from the 15 different bowls of curried vegetables, dal, pork, lake fish, and sambal presented with two different kinds of rice. With juice, this feast came to barely USD$10 per person.

Cacio e Pepe at Lupa:  Mario Batali’s Lupa is no secret, and for anyone who has eaten there, neither is the Cacio e Pepe.  While it may have taken me a while to get on board with this program, I made up for it plenty going back four times this year.  When you find a dish that is “the best”, it is hard to keep away when the craving strikes for the perfect cheese and black pepper slicked pasta.

Rabbit in Salt Bowl with Courgettes at Duck Soup: Since stumbling upon this restaurant suggestion on a London food blog a few summers back, this has quickly become a go-to restaurant for John and me.  The small plates change constantly and we have been consistently impressed with their range. This Labor Day weekend it was a braised rabbit dish with baby courgettes served in a Himalayan salt bowl that captured my taste buds’ memory and insured that as long as Duck Soup is open, we will keep coming back.

Ddukbokki at Hanjan:  I love Korean, in no small way because I’m obsessed with pickled food and kimchi is perhaps the pinnacle of pickling technique.  Hanjan, a modern Korean newcomer to the Flatiron district makes kimchi all right, and it is a must every time I eat there.  Along with the kimchi, the Pork Fat “Ddukbokki” is now on my “must order” list.  Chewy rice cakes and briny sliced fish cakes mingle in a slick of spicy pork fat.  There is nothing quite like it.

Lamb Neck at Calliope:  I should be embarrassed how often I eat lunch at Calliope.  I can’t help it.  Eric Korsh and Ginevra Iverson might be making classic (and updated classic) French food better than the French in this Francophile city.  But if you go once, go for dinner, as that is where their food truly shines.  There is always a game bird on the menu, and it is always delicious.  Some nights I have been enchanted by specials such as a deconstructed cassoulet made with confit veal breast.  But make sure someone at your table orders the hot and sour braised lamb neck, served off the bone with pillow-light mascarpone agnolotti.  That is the stuff dreams are made of.  

Ceviche at El Camello Jr.: When two singing taxi drivers tell you that this is their go-to place for fish whenever they shuttle tourists the hour and a half drive from the Cancun airport to Tulum, you know the food has got to be good.  El Camello Jr. is owned by fisherman and attached to a seafood market.  The fish is so fresh you can watch the cooks cleaning the catch from an open window.  The “chico” fish ceviche was so not-small and so delicious that could have been a meal for two on its own, with a side of excellent chips and a cerveza, of course.

Adobada at Los Tacos No. 1: Los Tacos No. 1 changed my life.  This is not hyperbole.  As a native Californian, homesickness to me tastes like tacos.  I mean real tacos.  Not the fancy versions popping up all over New York from star chefs trying to reinvent the wheel.  I mean real, honest, homemade tortilla, fresh salsa, meat-on-a-spit tacos.  Then three entrepreneurs schooled in Tijuana-style tacos brought Los Tacos No. 1 to Chelsea Market, practically at my doorstep.  Now when I get the craving, a taste of home (washed down with an ice cold Jamaica) is only a hop, skip, and jump away.

Tri-color Pappardelle with Matsutake Mushrooms at Piora: I despise the word “fusion”, but even then, I have been hard pressed to come up with a word to summarize the style at West Village newcomer Piora.  So I won’t.  It is enough to know the food is wonderful without trying to hard (even if the service does try a bit too hard on occasion).  A special one night last fall of tri-color homemade pappardelle with Matsutake mushrooms, a varietal prized in Japan, seemed a classic mash-up of Asian and Italian sensibilities.  Whatever you want to call the cuisine at Piora, all you need to know is that it is delicious.

Green Curry ramen at Bassanova: Who can chose a best ramen in New York City?  We are spoiled for choice.  And though everyone seems to have a personal favorite for the classic variety (mine is Hide-Chan’s spicy ramen) we are just now seeing the innovation that has been happening in Japan migrate to our shores.  A great early example is the fabled Green Curry Ramen from Bassanova, originally of Japan and now in New York’s Chinatown.  Push the weirdly placed mesclun greens to the side and dip your chopsticks into the beautiful, oversized bowl to fish out springy noodles bathing in a rich, fragrant green curry.  It will make you wonder why no one on this side of the Pacific had thought of that already.

Afternoon Snack at Hasaki: The name “Afternoon Snack” was clearly designed to make one laugh.  This is “snack” fit for a giant, or perhaps an Olympic sprinter.  But for us mere mortals who get hungry at lunch time, this spread is a sampler of just about everything wonderful this authentic East Village Japanese restaurant serves: green salad, red miso soup, tempura vegetables and shrimp, grilled miso salmon, two seaweed salads, and the chef’s sushi and roll selection of the day.  At $18, it might just be the best value “snack” in New York City.

Wishing you food adventures and happy eating in 2014!

Note:  In my capacity as a wine salesperson I do business with Piora, Hanjan, and Calliope.  However, I paid for all food mentioned here and would have happily eaten at any of these restaurants regardless of my business relationship.

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Vacation Smackdown

 OR, How to Eat Your Way to a Holiday

Sri Lankan Pork Curry and Curried Green Beans

There are many ways to choose a vacation, but few (at least that I’ve heard of) involve a weekend-long smackdown.  Needless to say, John and I have never been the types to take travel lightly.  Our holiday destination this year wouldn’t just present itself in the form of a friend’s wedding, or family reunion.  No, our vacation location would have to work for it. 

Several months ago we had been tossing a few ideas back and forth for a late June holiday.  We knew some serious discussions would need to be had, and fast, if we were going to book flights and rooms before prices turned astronomical.  After batting around a few locales (Burma- monsoon season, Peru- winter, Nepal- too hot) we whittled the global list of possibilities down to a surviving two.  Sardinia has long loomed in our gustatory and beach fantasies and yet never had either of us set foot on those fabled sandy shores.  On the other hand, both of us had been to Sri Lanka, but we had such a good time on our last visit, we considered visiting for a second time in just two years.

With no clear champion between the finalists, John decided the best way to form a conclusion was to have the countries face off in a weekend-long analysis of the pros and cons.  We were having a vacation-off. 

Geographically and culturally Sri Lanka and Sardinia fall on opposite ends of the spectrum.  So to measure these against each other we decided on some clear categories for comparison- logistics (flight times, number of legs), cost (flights, hotels, in-country transport, expected food prices), and (obviously) food.  It is worth mentioning that because Sri Lanka and Sardinia are both blessed with the sort of fairy tale beaches one thinks only exists in the glossy pages of travel magazines, we called the beach requirement a draw. 

Surprisingly, even though Sri Lanka is a full 4000 miles further away from New York than Sardinia as the crow flies, it was not necessarily quicker to get to.  Limited flight times and the number of connections meant total travel time to either destination was about the same. 

As for cost, Sri Lanka would be the more expensive plane ticket.  However, we read enough travel blogs to know that we should expect to pay handsomely for mere decent accommodations during the Sardinian high season.  And food, well, even if a plate of pasta in Sardinia is cheap for Italy, nothing can beat the $6 per person curry and rice specials in Sri Lanka where dishes emerge from the kitchen in quantities no person in their right mind could finish.

Cookbooks used for reference in the cooking smackdown

That just left the cuisine.  Since we are not the types to travel to Thailand and end up eating at a German schnitzel restaurant, the local foods would need to be meals we not just tolerated but loved.  So it was we started the weekend with the Sardinian specialty, fregola, and finished the smack down with a Sri Lankan pork curry. 

The fregola I cooked slowly with diced tomatoes, sweet sausage, and chorizo.  I stirred in parsley at the end for a good herbal kick.  John lapped up his dish and declared that it should be a permanent additional to our household dinner rotation. 

Two days of research and debate later I was working on our pork curry lunch when it hit me.  I’d made up my mind where we should go this summer.  But first we needed to eat. 

Fregola with sweet sausage and chorizo

John had been out running errands and walked back into our apartment to find the powerful aromas of cinnamon, ginger, and lemongrass wafting from a wok where the aromatics were simmering away with cubes of lean pork shoulder.  I stood back from the stove as he leaned over to inspect my work and dip his finger in the sauce for a taste.  

“I think I know what we should do.”

He cocked an eye.  “Really?”

“Yep.”  I handed him a fork and he speared a cube of meat.  He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. A look of blissful meditation passed over him while he chewed.  He let out a slight groan and slowly fluttered open his lids.  “Want to guess?” 

A smile crossed his face.  “Well, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking right now….” 

The aroma of cinnamon, fiery heat of the curries, beauty of the white sandy beaches, and smiling faces of the people on this Pearl of the Indian Ocean were all calling our names.  For this year at least, the smackdown was settled and Sri Lanka declared the victor.

Sri Lankan Spiced Pork

(adapted from “The Exotic Tastes of Paradise” by Felicia Wakwella Sorensen)

2 lb. lean, boneless pork shoulder, cut into 1 inch cubes

Salt

Pepper

3 T. vegetable oil

3 shallots

1 inch piece of ginger

3 cloves garlic

6 curry leaves, or 3 bay leaves

2 inch piece lemongrass

2 inch piece cinnamon

1 T. paprika

1 T. ground coriander

1 T. ground cumin

1 tsp. chili powder

¼ cup white vinegar

1 ½ c. water

Pat pork cubes dry.  Season on all sides with salt and pepper.  Heat oil in a large wok over medium high heat.  Working in four batches, brown pork on all sides.  Remove browned pork to a platter using a slotted spoon and repeat with remaining uncooked pork.  While pork is browning, peel and thinly slice shallots. Peel ginger and julienne.  Peel garlic and finely chop.  Once all pork is browned and resting on the platter, add shallots, ginger and garlic to the wok (if wok is dry, add additional 1 T. vegetable oil).  Stir fry garlic and ginger for two minutes until fragrant.  Add curry leaves, lemongrass, cinnamon stick, paprika, coriander, cumin, and chili powder. Stir-fry for another 60 seconds until fragrant.  Add vinegar, water, and browned pork to the pan.  Bring to a simmer then cover with a lid and reduce heat to medium low.  Cook covered until pork is very tender, about forty-five minutes.  Remove lid and return heat to medium high.  Simmer until liquid has reduced to a thick sauce.  Taste and adjust seasoning with additional salt and pepper if desired.  Serve with rice. 

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

The Popcorn of Sri Lanka: Roasted Chickpeas

Salmon, Arugula Salad with Roasted Chickpeas

As John and I walked out of a Hindu festival in Sri Lanka last summer, carefully stepping around pilgrims with their possessions spread across the sparse grass lawn, a smell stopped us in our tracks.  It smelled like… popcorn?  Surrounded by one hundred thousand Sri Lankans, some who had journeyed by foot over three hundred miles, if we closed our eyes and just breathed deeply through our noses we could have been in an air-conditioned movie theater in Manhattan. 

When it comes to the smell of popcorn, John is Pavlov’s dog.  It took me a few moments to realize we had separated as I followed close behind our guide who was attempting to get us out of the festival before the mass exodus began. 

I called to the guide to stop.  Turning around we found John standing in front of a small street cart. 

“Is that popcorn?” John asked the guide. 

“No, not popcorn. And you cannot eat that.  You will end up in the hospital if you eat that.”

Our guide had been helping us find hoppers, a quintessential Sri Lanka street food for days.  It was completely out of character for him to tell us something from a street cart was not safe to eat.

“But it smells like popcorn!”  John insisted. 

“No.  This is chickpeas.  You cannot eat them because they are boiled in dirty water.  I once took a tourist to the hospital after he ate those.  I am sorry but I cannot let you eat it.”

Reluctantly I pulled John away from the chickpeas that smelled like popcorn. As the Sri Lankans lined up to get these bags of legumes roasted in a wok-like contraption, it was hard to imagine that something that smelled so good and so familiar could make us sick.

Roasted Chickpeas, Cauliflower, and Olives

Since that trip I have come to understand that roasted chickpeas might actually be the equivalent of popcorn for the people of Sri Lanka.  They are almost as simple to make as popcorn, they take well to a variety of seasonings, and here in the US they come free of intestinal destroying bacteria.

What’s more, you don’t even need to use water when making them for yourself, so good are the canned chickpeas one can find these days.  I simply pop open a can, rinse the beans well, season and roast.  Over the next 15 minutes a delicious smell takes over our apartment.  I am transported from my kitchen to the foyer of a movie theater, across oceans to Sri Lanka and finally back to my home, where no dirty water can stand between me and a handful of spicy, roasted chickpeas. 

Spiced, Roasted Chickpeas

Time: 20 minutes

1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

3 T. olive oil

½ tsp. smoked paprika

¼ tsp. cayenne

¼ tsp. black pepper

½ tsp. Kosher salt

Preheat oven to 400°F. In a large roasting pan, toss chickpeas with olive oil and all the seasonings.  Roast for 15 minutes, tossing the beans on 2 or 3 occasions during the cooking time.  

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

Best Bites of 2011- Restaurant Edition

Spicy Cumin Lamb Noodles in Soup from Xi'an Famous Foods

It was a good year for lamb.  And spice.  Whether eating cross-legged at a street vendor in Indonesia, using newspaper as a plate in Sri Lanka, or sampling the latest creation from celebrity chef Jose Andres in Las Vegas, it was a year full of memorable bites.

In no particular order.... 

Head on prawns, a la plancha, anchovy butter, tarragon. The Bristol, Chicago. 

It had been about eight years since my last time in Chicago.  January in Chicago lived up to my weather expectations (bone rattling cold) and food (fantastic).  Even after a mind-blowing meal the night before at 16 filled with every high end food imaginable- truffles, caviar, Waygu beef- it was the shrimp at The Bristol that left the biggest impression of the trip.  Packed with deep flavor from the fatty head and the prawns came dripping in luscious herbed anchovy butter.  I licked my fingers.

Spaghittusu cun Allu Ollu e Bottariga.  La Ciccia, San Francisco. 

The meal that started it all- my obsession with Sardinian food that is.  Trying to break out of our Cali-Italian dining rut in San Francisco, I booked a table at this specifically Sardinian restaurant in Noe Valley for my boyfriend’s birthday.  The restaurant and the cuisine excel in creating complex flavors with simple ingredients.  Spaghetti with spicy oil and bottarga, or mullet roe, topped with golden breadcrumbs tattooed my tastebuds with the memory of truly excellent regional Italian cuisine.
On my Sardinian obsession: All Roads Lead to Sardinia

Duck Tongue Tacos. China Poblano, Las Vegas.

I’ll admit I was highly skeptical of this Chinese-Meets-Mexican concept at the new Cosmopolitan Hotel.  I should not have doubted Jose Andres.  His team deftly managed hand made dumplings in one corner while turning out hand pressed tortillas in another.  Sometimes the two cuisines met in the middle as with the bold flavors of the duck tongue tacos.
For the story on my meal at China Poblano, click here: From China to Mexico By Way of Las Vegas

Egg Hopper with Sambal. Night Market Stall in Kataragama, Sri Lanka.

Sri Lanka had already been wowing me for days with mouth numbing curries, melting dal, fresh fish, and endless preparations of vegetables.  But I was after a taste of the legendary egg hopper, a bowl shaped pancake made of fermented batter filled with a scrambled egg and spicy sambal chili paste.  At a festival in Kataragama, a woman with a huge smile dished up her specialty and wrapped it in newspaper for us to eat on the drive home.  Easily one of the simplest and most memorable bites and meals of my year.
On Hoppers and Curry Rice: To Create Trust First Eat the Fire

Oryx, Springbok, Kudu.  Namibia.

It is too hard to choose just one of these bites.  Therefore this is a tie between all the wild game we ate in Namibia.  At Joe’s in Windhoek.  Oase Guesthouse in Kamanjab.  Erich’s in Swakopmund.  And Sossusvlei Lodge in Sesriem.
More on wild meat in Namibia: The Pride of Namibia

Polenta with bacon lardon, Bagnes cheese, and tomato sauce.  Croix de Coeur, Verbier, Switzerland.

No one told me about how good the food can be in Switzerland- the wine, the chanterelles, and Oh My, the cheese.  Also, I’m not sure I really grasped just how organized the trail system is in the Alps with convenient rest stops for food and drink seemingly every few miles.  At the end of a 9-mile trail run we celebrated with mediocre pasta and an over-the-top delicious plate of polenta.  It came out sizzling in a cast iron pan, topped with a chunky marina sauce, melted cheese from the valley below and thick slices of bacon lardon.  It may have been August but that is a wintry comfort food I would eat any time of year. 

Spicy Cumin Lamb Noodles. (Pictured above)  Xi’an Famous Foods, New York, New York.

I have fond memories of a solo trip to China many years ago, particularly of the food I ate in the Northern city of Xi’an where the spices of the East meet the hearty hand cut wheat noodles of China.  Xi’an Famous Foods does justice to the city for which it is named.  A sinus clearing, steaming bowl of spicy cumin lamb noodles brought back a flood of memories with every slurp.

Mie Goreng with Lamb.  Borobudur, Indonesia.

We escaped our plush hotel one night and its unadventurous tourist food for real local experience.  Sitting cross-legged on plastic mats, the hotel’s restaurant manager had brought us to his personal favorite restaurant in town normally patronized only by locals.  He ordered for us- plates of satay and mie goreng were washed down with warm beer from the convenience store next door.  The spice from the mie goreng- thin rice noodles stir fried with lamb- was so potent that we coughed and our eyes watered even from several meters away from the wok at the street side stall.  Our eyes watered still, this time with happiness, as we asked our guide to order seconds. More on Indonesian street food eating: Eating the Street and the Street Bites Back

Salsa. El Banco, Puerto Vallarta.

It is hard to choose a favorite part of this spectacular retreat on the Mexican coast far away from the crowds of Puerta Vallarta.  If I had to choose one thing, it might be the salsa whipped up daily by the villa’s chef.  We managed to overcome my lack of Spanish and her lack of English when she taught me how to make this salsa of blackened chilies simply by watching her work.  I now can have a little taste of Mexico whenever I get the urge.
Find the recipe for Olinka's Salsa Here: For Heat Loving Gringos

Herbs, Flowers, Foraged Greens, Curds and Whey. Forage, Salt Lake City, Utah.

“Forage” was certainly a buzzword of 2011 in the world of food, but this restaurant was enough ahead of the trend to actually name this small, sleek establishment after one of the methods through which these young chef/owners procure their food.  A simple salad of herbs and flowers from their backyard greenhouse and foraged greens from a nearby park was topped with milky whey and salty curds.  It sounded strange, looked beautiful, and tasted hauntingly of the land from which the dish came.
For a detailed account of my meal at Forage, click here: And the Winner Is...

Lasagna. Bianca, New York, New York.

Not new for me, the lasagna at Bianca was special precisely because it is an old familiar friend.  Our first night moving into our new apartment in New York after living in California for over five years, it was to Bianca we went to celebrate with paper thin sheets of pasta layered with béchamel and meat sauce- possibly the best lasagna anywhere in the world.

Stay tuned for the best of my year in cooking.  

Amy Powell is a food and travel writer based in New York City. She is a graduate of Cornell University's School of Hotel Administration and the French Culinary Institute. Follow her on Twitter @amymariepowell

To Create Trust, First Eat the Fire

“Do you live in Sri Lanka?” A Sri Lanka woman standing in behind me at the breakfast buffet waiting for hoppers, a fermented bowl shaped pancake, asked me this question incredulously, watching me spoon a heaping pile of spicy chili sambal on my plate.

This was not the first time I had been asked that question in the previous five days. John and I had landed back at the historic Galle Face Hotel in Colombo having finished a Southern loop of Sri Lanka. In a few days our eyes had taken in miles of pure white beaches, benevolent giant Buddhas, smiling school children on bikes, fisherman pulling in catch on colorful boats, creased and toothless Tamil woman trudging uphill with several kilos of harvested tea leaves strapped to their heads in nylon bags.

Along this route we had instructed our capable driver to only pull over his white Toyota Corolla to eat if the establishment looked like the sort of joint a Sri Lankan would eat at for lunch. We wanted it to be safe- no dirty water boiled potatoes- but we also could not bear even one buffet lunch surrounded by fat European tourists heaping up piles of bland curries and poorly imitated continental food thinking they were eating authentically.

Our driver was successful in this venture, first introducing us to one of the nicer local establishments in the fishing town of Weligama and later taking a chance on an empty Sri Lankan-owned guesthouse in Dickwalla that he thought looked promising. At these places we did not so much as glance another Westerner and hardly a Sri Lankan but the curries came out hot, fresh, and spicy.

Curry rice, the national dish of Sri Lanka, is much more than the name would suggest. Whether we chose chicken, fish, beef, shrimp or any combination thereof, a bowl of fish curry would arrive in a spice laced coconut sauce distinct from the chicken curry and with it bowl upon bowl of fresh vegetable curries from green beans to pumpkin to cucumber along with dal, rice, crispy papadums, and the ubiquitous grated coconut mixed with sambal.

We tested the limits our tolerance for spice with “deviled fish”- cubes of a local tuna served in a dry sauté which, as the name suggested, was fiery enough as to invoke the inferno of some imagined hell. The sweat that beaded on our forehead was welcome, having a cooling effect in the muggy afternoon heat.

At a religious festival in the hillside town of Katharagama we paused to admire the smiling woman working a street stand at night, turning out fresh hoppers with the expert turn of spatula and rotation of rounded pan on gas flame that hinted she had been at this for years. When we ordered two for the road, each with a cracked egg- scrambled in the center while the yeasty pancake finished setting- and seasoned with salt, pepper, and a dollop of sambal, her smile lit up her steamy booth with a radiance that threatened to outshine the surrounding lights of the nighttime festival.

For the next five days we looked for hoppers at roadside stands and in the breakfast buffet line at nicer hotels. None made them as well as our smiling friend in Katharagama.

The question as to whether we lived in Sri Lanka was always coupled with astonishment that John and I like our food as the locals do, which most often means spicy. This could be some misunderstanding from the locals that pale skin means a bland palate. But I fear this comes from experience.

Later on that week in the central-north region of Sri Lanka, the Ancient Cities area, we were with a group for a few days at a conference where John was to deliver a speech. The group was a lively and entertaining bunch, some two dozen or so men and women who were either Asian or Western people who had adopted Asia as their home. Yet come group dinners, there was something a little off in the spread. The food looked like a fancier version of the curries we had been eating for days at roadside stalls, but not a single chili appeared anywhere throughout the meal. No sambal, no spicy chutney, no hot spice period.

I can’t say the food was bad, but it is hard to think one is dining authentically in a country that thrives on spice when all chilies have been removed for the sake of our wimpy non-Sri Lankan palates. I cannot blame this on the chef- my guess is that from experience or instruction, he had his reasons for keeping the chilies as far away from the table as possible.

It is no wonder the woman in the line behind me asked if I lived in Sri Lanka. Sambal and spice are the currency of their cuisine. To eat with Sri Lankans as they do opens the door to a shared passion, with that comes trust and friendship.

My once hot hopper with sambal cooled to room temperature as I chatted with my new friend Romaine in line at the hopper station. While the chef worked on her egg hopper she asked me questions about New York City and I asked her about family and life in Sri Lanka. Desperate to dig into my new favorite breakfast food, I excused myself from Romaine, but not before she had slipped me her number and the offer to spend the afternoon together in Colombo. Spicy sambal had made me a new friend.